Witch Crag
by L.Roscelin
Summary: Arthur must make a Choice; Survive in a life he'll hate forever? Or run away and most certainly dies? Omegaverse. US x Witch!UK; one-sided UKSp slight France x Spain.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur pressed down and crawled the last stretch of the bramble tunnel on his stomach carefully to avoid thorns. He climbed a tall tree behind the bramble bushes just enough to look over the flint ledge. He gazed down the grasslands that sloped away below.

Britannia's funeral pocession had just emerged from the great outer gates of the hill fort. Two men carried the flimsy strectcher with the near dead woman's body on it; two guards, who opened a slight opening of the gate closes it as soon as they could and followed.

Omegas never allowed to follow a funeral. Or watched one, or talked about it, even if it was someone of your beloved.

Before Arthur could controls it, tears skidded down his grimy face. He was glad he was alone, with nobody to laugh at him for his wasteful emotion.

Nobody known of her secret spot, here if you couched down a little on the branch, the bramble bush are tall to enough to hide you entirely. Here, Arthur always looked out to the vast grassland beyond, iced garden and forest... Where he could never be and never allowed to go.

However today, he was here to grieve for Britannia. Arthur wiped his tears with his sleeves and stared at the tiny funeral procession as it trooped under the great rock overhang. But if Arthur craned over the edge, he can still see it. Britannia lied so still and lifeless between two marching man and the boys circling the strecher, proud of their job and alert for danger.

For all Arthur known, he was the runt of the litter. While his siblings are all Alphas and awesome warriors, he was born as fierce as Alpha yet, he is an Omega. Britannia had cared for him as a Omega child in the pens, the pens is where all infants went as soon as they're weaned, because the headman declared it was more efficient that way. Arthur had gone there too early, barely walking, because he was abandoned.

The funeral procession had dissappeared from sight, Arthur couldn't see the men tripping the strecher sideways and let Britannia's body slide off and drop to the ground lifelessly, but he knew, he always knew this was happening.

The sheepmen of hill fort always dealth with death this way. Death was inevitable; to survive, you pay no minds to other's death. A death sheep worth something, wool and food. But a death human...is nothing. There was no ceremony, no words, just a body thrown like meat to keep the forest dog and the black cloud of crows satisfied, away from the fort.

The men reappeared into Arthur's sight with empty strecher. the guards jogged ahead of them and opened the great gates quickly. Nobody want to be outside while the crows and wolves came.

Arthur made himself still, made himself wait, and listen. This is the third funeral he watched; he knew what was coming. She stared at the close-set trees that ringed around the grasslands. There was a stirring and thickening at the base of a nearby clumb of firs; then a surging black shape broke free, and streamed into the opening.

A pack of wolves raced towards Britannia. He could hear them now, a rushing, crackling noise as they sped through the undergrowth.

Up above, another bunch of predators are preparing, flock of giant crows, gathering. They always came just after the wolves; they'd wait for the body to be torn open so they could feast too when the wolves are sated.

Arthur felt his stomach squirm; he retched twice. Althorough he forced himself to see thru Britannia's end, hating himself, he clapped his hand over his ears, so he wouldn't hear the snatching and cracking and gorging.

"Goodbye... Mother" Arthur whispered, eyes on the sky "Thank you, Thank you for saving me."

Something weird is happening with the crow. Arthur watched as the crow seperate suddenly, cawing in panic, instead of getting lower and lower, they wheeled upwards, higher away, seperating. Arthur then hear yelping, long, terrified whining and looked down at the grasslands. The wolves, a black, sinewy mass of them, streaming back into the forest. Arthur stared as the dark trees absorbed them, amazed. Why they left a grisly feast? Arthur tried to crane forward but the angle was all wrong and he can't see Britannia's body, all he could hear is silence.

About two hundred sheep people lived at the hill fort. Most of them are already queuing for the end-of-day meal when Arthur rushed into the food hut. He grabbed one of the little scoured wooden troughs from the pile then spotted France infront of him, yellow hair shining. He pushed and wiggled and pleaded his way through until he's directly behind her.

Arthur pressed France's waist hard and make France jolted upright almost dropping his trough.

Francis turned around, big blue eyes wide, pouting. His beauty always made Arthur blink althorough he don't want to admit it. The women had rubbed ash into Francis's hair as a child to dull it. And at the quarterly shearings, they'd shaved her as close as they could. Beauty was a distraction; it didn't help you survive, which Arthur concluded as jealousy he suppose. But for the last half-year, Francis hair had been left to grow. France was trade. He's going to be sixteen soon, he's going soon to be a omega to one of the alpha horsemen, to strengthen their link between two tribes. Arthur couldn't bear to think of it.

"Where have you _been?!"_ Francis whispered. "I had to cover for you! I said one of the pregnant sheep was sick and you were nursing it."

"Thanks, sorry I was up high" Up high was the nearest Arthur could tell Francis of her flint ledge. "Watching Britannia get taken out."

Francis shuddered. "Mio Dio" she muttered. "How could you bear it?"

"...Because I owned it to her. I owned it to her to see her taken. But France, listen. She -"

"Less chattering!" barked the head cook. "Save your breath to eat and work!"

Francis held out her little trough and the scowling cook dolloped a scant ladleful of porridge into it.

The end-of-day meal was always the same. Porridge made from grain gathered on the lower sloped behind the hill fort at the end of the summer, cooked in stock from sheep bones, with scraps of mutton added.

"Tell me tonight" mummured Francis, as Arthur stepped forward with her trough.

The omegas sat together silently at the omaga's end of the young one's benches, pressing their near knees together by the way of communication. Their friend Antonio was sitting the opposite with the alphas. He didn't look across at them. He had a bright new bruise by his left eye, and even at the distance they sat, Arthur can see his hand shaking as he spooned up his food.

Night time was the best time. The need for warmed meant you could sleep close in the omega's hut. all bundled together under old worn sheepskin, little ones just out of the pens cuddle and mothered by the older omegas. Arthur crawled across two solid forms, wincing as one of them elbowed her, hard, and stumbled down alongside with France.

"Did you see Antonio's face?" Francis mourned, softly. "Someone bullied him again."

"I know," said Arthur. "Those bastards, I hate them,"

They'd grown up with Spain, despite all the obstacles and sheepman-creed disaproval, they'd formed a strong friendship with him. But they's watched in sorrow as he'd slowly changed from a bright, funny, defiant child to a boy with forced smile while hunched shoulders with a hunted expression when nobody's there.

"If only he could grow a bit" France said. "I'll give anything to make him bigger"

"I know," Arthur whispered. "So he could stick it back to them."

"And be a footsoldier. Then the alphas will leave him alone,"

Arthur sighed. He knew Antonio cant be a footsoldier, and Francis must know it too, but they never admitted it to each other. Footsoldier, with their short battling lives, were the elite of the hill fort; the alphas formed its fighting core. And they treated other alphas - the other who stayed safe, who shared the omega's work like garbage. Antonio life was set to get worse.

"So..." murmured Francis, quietly, "Britannia's funeral. Tell me."

"It was weird. I watched as they take her out, tipped her off- I saw them jog back with the empty stretcher but i couldn't lean out far enough to see her body."

"Oh, Arthur, your high place. You'll tumble down one day."

"Too bad, it's worth it. Anyway, the wolves came and the crows..."

"Eww. How could you stomach it?"

"...I had to be there, it was the least I could do when I hadn't even said goodbye to her..."

"That wasn't your fault" Francis patted Arthur head lightly like he always to like a brother.

"Then...This weird thing happened... the crows flew away, the wolves run off... they seem full of panic, cawing, yelping anything! they didn't even touch her, I'm sure of it, I didn't hear anything."

"Did you hear anything else?" Francis asked and he shifted away from Arthur a little. Arthur stiffened. He knew what Francis meant - any other predator. There were rumours of montrous unamed creatures prowling outside the forest, bird even bigger and savage than the crows.

"No, nothing," Arthur muttered, fiercely. "If it'd been... I'd heard of it, if she was taken- I'dve heard it."

"It's ok, Arthur" said Francis, and she pulled the sheep fleece around them more snuggly. "Go to sleep now."

"It happened all so fast...her dying... Why didn't they tell me she got sick? I can't bear it that I can't even see her... didn't kiss her goodbye...D'you think she asked for me?" Arthur looked up and grumbled.

Francis, exhausted, was already asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The omegas only slept for a few hours. They were woken by the harsh sound of iron clanging against iron. This summons meant one of two things- attack from a gang of marauders, or heavy rain. Usually it was rain.

All but the youngest omegas struggled to their feet and out of the hut into the downpour, running to get in line. Everyone know their paces, even in the dark; water was as necessary to survival as the sheep were and the water drill was practised too often for anyone to forget.

As the headman shouted orders, eight vast oiled sheetes made of stitched together sheepskins were unrolled. Each one was stretched between four sturdy wooden stakes and tied securely. Then thirty-two footsoldiers seized a stake each, stood braced under the teeming sky.

Everyone watched as the sheet bulged and filled with precious rain water. The foot soldier holding the front stakes dipped their load as that water poured off the sheets into waiting skin buckets, each replaces so fast that barely a drop was spilt. The bucket were fed into a chain and passed from hand to hand until they reached the footsoldiers at the well, who emptied them into its stone depths and fed them back into the chain to the sheets again.

Arthur and France were at the top of the line that handled full buckets. They's been moved up from the empty line that summer. It was exhausting, seizing the wet handle of a heavy bucket with two hands, turning to pass it on, spinning back to get the next one. If you were too slow, and there's a buildup behind of you, the flow of emptied buckets would be stalled and the water wasted. But too hurry probably end up slip over and slide on the mud...

The winter before last, Antonio had slipped and sent himself and a full bucket boy next to him, a newly promoted footsoldier jump in and continued the chain replace him and continued with the footsoldier next in the chain, each of them stretching their arms long. When Antonio struggled to his feet, slimy and dripping, but the two jeering alpha hadn't let him back into the line. When the headman praised the young footsoldier afterwards, it been the absolute seal on Antonio's humiliation and the bullies target.

Arthur screwed up his face, peering thru the dark and the rain. The boy who'd grabbed that fallen bucket was there, close to her, holding one of the wooden stakes. He was called Alfred, and the headman had great hopes on him; he'd recently made him leader of the young footsoldiers. Alfred trained his fighting relentlessly, and longed to be tested in a fight.

Arthur realised with a start that Alfred was staring straight at him, raising his eyebrows like a question. She glared down again. Antonio was three beyond Francis; as he passed her full bucket on, Arthur willed all their hands strength.

The rain finally began to lessen; the storm was gathering its skirts and heading northwards. The sheets had been filled and emptied five times; a great haul. Exhausted everyone waited for the orders to stop.

As the sheet were emptied for the sixth time, the headman shouted, "End!" The words everyone longed for.

While the storm lasted, four older men excused from the rigour of the water chain had been busy piling brushwood and thick sticks into carriers made from yet more sheep pelts. At the headman's command, they hobbled their loads to the fire pits, pulled off its cover and tipped in the brushwood. One of the cooks ran from the kitchen with a flaring rag that she dropped into the pit; carefully, the men fed in the sticks as the fire took hold.

Arthur and Francis hurried past the sheep pens towards the fire pit. The pen were solid and roomy; better made than the omega's sleeping huts. The dry sheep looked out at the drenched girls, shifting comfortably on their hay.

Arthur smiled at the sight of flames which were just beginning to dance above the rim of the pit; smoke swirled, scattering sparks. Two cooks staggered out from the kitchen with a great cauldron of soul they's heated on the stove that is always alight. Two more followed with the little wooden troughs and a huge ladle. The dripping workers in their rough woollen tunics gathered round the fire, privileged footsoldiers at the front with alphas, everyone else clustered behind.

Arthur and Francis thanked Antonio as he helped them to get their share since alphas is privileged than omegas. They sat together and joked. It's a strange gathering. A fire at night, under the stars; the glow of success. of much water stored and saved. Hot soup, warmth and companionship. But apart from joshing among the footsoldiers and quiet laughter of the trio, there was no festivity. No singing, no chatting, no laughing. Everyone sat to dry and drank the soup to warm up and the only object was to survive. Cold and wet meant chills, meant illness and possible death. The fire was there for survival, nothing more.

But Arthur couldn't keep the smile off his face as he watched the flame flare. Unknown to him, a blue eyed alpha eyed him from the bunch of footsoldiers and leered at Antonio.

And then, too soon, much too soon, the headman said, "Put the fire out. Dawn is close. Set to work."


	3. Chapter 3

"I feel dreadful," muttered Francis, as they scrambled to their feet. "We've hardly had any sleep."

"I know," Arthur mumbled back. "It's ages till dawn..."

If the rain summons came early enoughin the night, the headman would let them go back to the huts to sleep again afterwards. And then the soup didn't count as start-of-day meal, and they got fed once more when they woke up. But that was rare. Usually they had to stay on their feet and work right through until the midday meal.

Kita was on sheep work for that day. Quainy was spinning skeins of wool. The older women who drew up the rotas and read out the next day's tasks at the end-of-day meal rarely let them be together.

Arthur risked reaching out her hand and squeezing Francis'. "Tonight," he whispered, and Francis nodded. Lying side by side, whispering in the blackness - it was all they had to look forward to.

As Arthur collected her bucket and rake, he saw Antonio heading off in the direction of the latrine hole. It seem to be his permenant job, shovelling out the latrines. Which was cruel, which was sad, but it means he might see him later, when he emptied his bucket full of droppings on to the hige stinking dung heap outside the rear stockades. Nothing was wasted. Once rotted, the manure nurtured the coarse grain that grew on the slopes at the back of the fort.

Arthur go into the first sheep pen, where the matured ewes lived. Ma Baa trotted over, raised its blunt head and shoved at him, stamping its hard little feet.

"Sod off, you ol'bitch" Arthur groaned.

She's named Ma Baa, and he hated it. Queen of the sheep, it had birthed countless lambs and seemed to be aware how valuable this made it - far more valuable than the omegas who tended it. It would nip the carers or back into them and tread on their feet.

Arthur shoved his rake at it but it pranced closer. Then turned around and urinated copiously, splashing her barefeet.

"You _wait"_ spat Arthur, "you evil bloody useless wool bag, you can't have many more lambs inside you, and once you're spent, we'll stew you up and throw your bones to the wolves..."

But Ma Baa was oblivious to the threat. It swaggered over to the troughs, which were being filled with grains by two little omega, one on the either side of the grain sack. Arthur sighed set her bucket down, and started raking up the dung and spent hay.

Arthur was in luck. As he straggered along the narrow, steep-sided passage between the inner and outer barricades, heading for the dung heap gate, Antonio was just coming back. They put down their buckets, Arthur's full, Antonio's empty, and leant back against the barricade planks, and grinned at each other.

"Well met, messy one," said Antonio. "How's life?"

"What's life?" Arthur answered.

"Complaining is futile," Antonio intoned. "Hope is futile."

"Abracadabra" Arthur chanted, giggling. They'd made it up in childhood - the game of Sheepmen's Song - and played it still.

"Stakes the witches. Nourish the sheep. The sheep are our saviours." Antonio singed while supressing his giggles.

"Baaa...baaa...baaaaaa..." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Watch our for marauders. Those who would gut us."

"Survive, survive, survive!"

The dung passage was one of the very few private spaces where they couldn't be seen or overheard. Where they could indulge in the game of mocking life on the hill fort.

"You've been hit," said Arthur, and he reached out his hand stroked Antonio's forehead just above the bruise.

"Again."

"Alfred's mob... One tripped me up and the other kicked me. I made out I was dead so I got off lightly..."

"I hate them... God, I hate them"

"Hate is a waste of useful energy," Antonio intoned, tried to resurrect the song game, but Arthur had tears is his eyes and wouldn't join in.

"Hey..." Antonio said softly. "I heard they took Britannia out yesterday, I'm really sorry..."

Arthur gulped. Antonio tone was so gentle, so unlike the other alphas, he wanted to fling himself into his arms and cries... He wanted to tell him about the weirdness of the crows and the dogs running from Britannia's body.

But Antonio was tactfully changing the subject. "Any news on Francis' trade?" he asked.

Arthur stiffened. He hated to think of Francis going. "No," he said. "He's safe as long as the ash is still on his hair... If I could think of a way to make him bald..."

Antonio sweatdropped. "You'll get slit as a witch if you do that, Arthur. And think of it Arthur, he'll have a better life with the horsemen for sure. They're fierce and they're democratic - they vote for things! And he'll have more colour, pleasure and fun..."

Stories about the horsemen's lavish feast had been brought back to hill fort. Jumping with the drumbeat, strange berry juice that make you crazy and full of laughter... but Arthur don't want to think about it.

"Can't you tell the headman? About the way the footsoldiers that bullies you?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, he sees. And known Alfred won't let it go too far."

Arthur reached out and hugged him. He knew it would go too far, maybe it has already gone too far - Antonio's rare bright spirit crushed.

"Come on, mad one," he said, gently disengaging himself. "We'd better go before we're missed." Arthur sighed. He picked up her bucket and headed for the narrow gate at the outer barricades that lead to the dung heap. There always was a guard on it, but they'd keep their voices low so he wouldn't hear them talking.

The headman was not a cruel man, nor especially callous...but everything he do is about survival. A badly wounded footsoldier wasn't kept alive. A weak baby wasn't fed. The very old weren't cared for.

But no one challenged the headman, because they knew somewhere. He kept them safe from the terror. Terror of the past, that strange time of fevered plenty when people had given their souls to things and let screens and machines do their living for them, burning in the Great Havoc. Terror of the nature, how it engulfing the past, reclaiming the land, its trees hiding wolfs and shelters giant crows... or...

Terror of Witch Crag


	4. Chapter 4

Witch Crag was always in view, from every part of the hill fort. Lowering, jagged, like a broken fingernail scraping the sky, its lower slopes thickly forested with dark pines that never changed whenever the season. Sometimes, at night, green or purple lights flickered on the summit. It was forbidden to look at them, because they're made by witches who lived there, could be part of how they lured Omegas or Alphas a like to them.

The last omega gone to Witch Crag was many years ago, when headman was still a young man. Her name was Albion. Mystery surrounded her going, is she bewitched? taken? or escaped? It was forbidden to talk about her...

But once, when Arthur was a child, Britannia had talked about Albion. It was spring, Arthur found an wounded bird chriping by the kitchens. He scooped it up and nursed it while hiding it behind some wooden staves. He fed the bird with worms, as it heals it started attach to Arthur.

One day, it flew to Arthur and handed on his shoulder. Rubbing it's head softy against his cheeks. Laughing in pleasure, he turns to find Britannia standing there, white faced.

"I saved it! Britannia!" Arthur cried in triumph Why are you looking at me like that...?" Arthur excited smile was dropped when he notices Britannia's look.

Britannia glanced around hurriedly behind her, then got hold of Arthur's arm. "You must drive it off," she said, "You musn't keep it tame."

"I know... I know it's foolish, time wasting. Animals are here to feed us, not for fun or to be out friends. But-"

"It's more than that," said Britannia, urgently. "They'll think you're a witch"

"Huh? Why?"

"Because you befriend beasts. Albion... Albion could do that. She had a little wild wolf, a puppy. The headman found her with it - he... crushed the life out of it. In front of her. She went hysterical and attacked the headman. They tied her up and left her in one of the storage huts while they decide what to be done to her. But in the morning... she's gone."

"To the witches?"

"Yes... most likely"

Arthur clenched his fist. "And you think I'm one?"

"No, it's what others think darling. If she hadn't gone... they'd've slit her for sure."

Witches have a fearful history. Abducting omegas, luring them with witchery; murdering any alphas who dared to venture on the crag slopes - there were sightings of their corpses hanging like grotesque puppets from the pine tree branches.

Not long after Albion disappeared, 3 witches are found in the woods nearby. They're dragged out to the plains and slit as they stood. The headman himself executing out of them.

The following night, their bloodstained garments has floated eerily down into the hill fort, causing panic and dismay of the sheep people, who were sure they're under a curse.

Soon afterwards, a marauding tribe intent on stealing sheeps had besieged the hill fort. As their pact demanded, the horsemen had answered the bonfire summons and joined with the sheepmen; together they driven the marauders off. The fierce fighting has lasted until nightfall... The loss is terrible.

But less terrible, somehow, than what they saw from the hill fort walls when the sun came up the next day.

Three great stakes had been driven deep to the ground on the edge of the battlefields, stakes with crossbars. On one side of each crossbar dangled a bouquet with thistles, teasels and yellow flowering broom, all wrapped in ivy and vines to keep in place. Beautiful in their way.

On the other side of the crossbars three dead footsoldiers swung, hang and dangling by a foot. More vines and ivy coiled over them.

A message from the witches.

"I don't think you're a witch,Arthur..." Britannia had whispered, "but it's not me who matters."

* * *

In the omega's sleeping hut, Arthur snuggled up to the sheepskin nearer to Francis, omegas hardly could provide much heat to themselves with their naturally low temperature. "Ugh, at last," Arthur mumbled. "A bit of space finally. No people ordering us about. Francis, pinch me if I doze off, if we dont talk about this, Spring is our doom..."

"Shhhh," said Francis, he look around the hut make sure others are all asleep. "shhhh."

"We're going to be 16 this spring... 'The heat' is gonna affect us too?" Arthur shifted and hugged his knees, curling into a ball. "They've never allowed us near the older omegas during the Spring don't they...?"

"Arthur... I don't know... It's said that when it occurs, the Omega will attack others omegas in sight and tried to seduce an Alpha on 'em." Francis is trying his best to stay awake as his keep Arthur company.

"You think I'll attack you?" Arthur glanced at Francis.

"You already attacking me on daily basis so I dont see why not" Francis rolled his eyes.

"...Maybe. I saw Spain today. In the dung tunnel. Fitting isn't it? the only place you can get privacy is in a dung tunnel... He's being so brave, Francis... this place is killing us..." Arthur grumbled.

Francis was silent, although usually he was happy to talk about Spain. "What's up?" asked Arthur.

"I heard today," Francis murmured. "I'm going for a visit. The horsemen are having a feast next full moon. Six of our footsoldier are going to renre the bond of our tribes. And...I'm going too."

Panic seized Arthur. "Are you coming back?"

"They said so. But not for long. There're three men whose I might marry. Once we all met, we decide who I wed... Then I go back... and never back..."

"Are you scared?" whispered Arthur.

"Of course, I've felt sick the whole time since I've heard it... I don't like the fact that I'm going to married off to people I will meet for a few hours and not seeing you guys..."

"But you'll have a better life there. Everyone says so. Especially as a wife. Maybe you'll fall for one of the bridegrooms, they say young horsemen are gorgeous... I sure he'll fall for you too and love you... Oh I wish I wasn't so skinny and odd-looking, so they wanted me too!"

"I love how you look," Francis said, "but I'd won't change it if it only meant we could be together, since it wouldn't be you anymore..."

The night of the full moon came round fast. In its morning, six footsoldiers set off to walk the seven miles to the horsemen's fort, with Francis and a sheep destined for the spit walking with them.

Arthur have no chance to say goodbye to Francis as he escaped from his work hauling water up from the well only in time to see the great gates swing shut behind him. Arthur waited until the central yard is empty, then raced towards the rocky outcrop, clambered up it, and wriggled throught the brambles to his ledge to watch his brother-figure go. The footsoldiers surrounded Francis and the sheep, two of them carry a huge bale of wooven wool, on poles-more trades.

Arthur watched until they were out of sight, a stone of grief weighted inside her. Arthur then scrambled down and stood leaning against the wooden stoackade to catch her breath. Forking his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, he was suddenly aware of someone behind her. Then a hand shot out and grabbed her arms.

Frightened, he spun around. To face Alfred, grinning at her. He squeezed his arm hard, then let it go. "You climb like a tree rat," he said.

Arthur heart pounded in shock and fear. Had Alfred seen where he come from? Was his flint ledge discovered?

"What the hell are you trying to do?" Alfred stared at him.

"They've taking Francis," Arthur muttered. Too afraid to meet Alfred eyes, sometimes he just cursed his Omega instinct. "I was trying to see her go, but I couldn't."

"Course you couldn't. Unless you could fly, h'n? Like a witch?"

Arthur hung his head, didn't answer. He thought he'd get away with it after Alfred done.

Alfred looked at Arthur slightly trembling frame. "...You're not the only one sad to see Francis go," Alfred soften his tone. "Matthew was meant to be in that platoon today, but he's fallen for Francis' looks so bad that the headman noticed. Said he had to stop in case he cause trouble. _Idiot._ Missing out on a feast with the horsemen. Over a _omega_."

Arthur is too panicky to notice the change in Alfred's tone. Everything in Arthur wanted to get away from Alfred. To him, Alfred exuded a kind of menace, a violence. But he watched information more. "You went there the winter before last, didn't you?" he asked.

"Yes," Alfred glanced around. "For a feast - the biggest feast of the year. We stayed three nights. I'd just been made footsoldier - they were the best nights of my life. The horsemen know how to live. Their staple food is boars they hunt in the forent behind them, not stupid sheep. Their hall is decked with plunders they got from the tribes they battled with, and they honour their soldiers."

"You're honoured here," Arthur ventured.

"Not the same... Yes, we get fed the best, warmed first, wear leather... but that to make us fight better. There, they get proper respect. The warriors - they sat on high table above everyone else, and when the drums stopped, everyone shout their names, saluted them..."

"For that feast - didn't some of our omegas go?"

Arthur hated the way Alfred leered him when he asked that. "Three of them," he said. "You know _why_, don't you?"

"I thought... they went like Francis' going. To be considered wives. But none of them went back again. Did no one want to keep them?"

Alfred threw back his head and laughed. "And you're hoping no one will want Francis, so he'll stay here too? Forget it. Those three girls had a good time for a few nights. There was no plan for more. Remember the babies that was born, nine months later?"

Arthur went pale. With shock-and at her own stupidity. Of course. _Of course_.

" We boys were put to work, too," Alfred said. "Two babies came from us. Don't look so sick. My father was a horsemen, I'm sure of it. That's why I'm drawn to them. That's why I'm - like I am"

Arthur clenched his chest to try to surpress the panic he felt. "I never... I never thought of it..."

"Oh, Arthur. Dummy. Why'd you think headman's happy when someone brings in a wild sheep, found wandering? Fresh blood is good for breeding. Strengthens the strain. Better sheep, better men."

Before Arthur could stop it, tears slid down his cheeks uncontrollably. Shocking Alfred and himself. He ran. Straight away from the stunned Alpha.

"O-Oi!" Alfred watched as Arthur run away. Alfred's heart clenched as he watched the tears that slid down Arthur's face.

Arthur hide behind a hay stack as Alfred look around for him. He buried his face in his knees and hugged himself close. _Argh! Stupid! Why the tears!_ Arthur felt both scared and embarrassing. An unknown feeling swirl around inside him, making his heart and stomach churn. _Two babies came from us... came from us... us..._ Alfred voices echo in his mind. _Us_... are Alfred in it? Was he? There's 6 footsoldiers going right? Arthur groaned as this unsettling feeling, he felt it before when Antonio talked to other omegas but never this... Arthur pushes the stuff off his mind when Erika, a fellow omega called out for him._ Time for work, concentrate Arthur._


End file.
